(Modern Sonnet)
What is this thing love that makes fools of kings;
that makes a once low and lonely pauper dance,
or the most cheerful heart now cry while singing
- yet ready for another awkward chance.
Is there anything in this mortal life
that thrice bitten, we reach out again
to where angels and demons dance with knives
and where pain seems too common an end.
I think not - I think it is our soul's gold,
a quest that is never, ever ending,
then once in our grasp, to no one sold,
nor value in a heart pretending.
I look upon this love and pray,
that never can I let it slip away.
Modern Sonnet
The day begins, so does the fight,
as evil waits behind the door;
not Celsius nor Fahrenheit
can measure this emotion stored.
It lurks outside the castle walls,
beyond the moat now filled with pain
and waits to steal me when I fall -
to drown me in the chilling rain.
But, I've felt love and warm embrace
before this devil pulled me in.
Into God's trust, I must with haste
learn to love myself again.
Then shaking loose from what ensnares -
no longer sad - no longer scared.
Based on Archaic Poet's poem Twenty Below Zero
Oh, you’re a club-tie glad-hand social climber
If e'er there were one, Milo Minderbinder
A meticulous craft, your quest for domination
Your smile so bowed, so proud of your lofty station
Your well-known carnival of carnal knowledge
A cornucopia of knowing carnage
The next home remodel, a newer, younger model
stole into your wine cellar, then uncorked the bottle
The old ball and chain got chained, and bald, and old
From divorce, then cancer, then down the six foot hole.
But none will sue when you’re under your newest Nun
God’s Son knew, nothing new under the sun
Skipping blithely through fortune’s emerald fields
Shh! Do you hear karma at your heels?
5/30/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Revised 10/1/24
"Modern Sonnet"--couplet rhymes, loose with the metric feet
The priest loved his flock in Sicily ...
Easter and the Mass were fast approaching.
The church was decorated prettily.
On it, and his flock, priest was doting.
He made sure he knew people by name ...
Some he had known for years.
His favourite was one who was lame -
So sad ... the priest was often in tears.
Now, this lame man had a fit in the church
In the middle of Easter Mass.
The timing could not have been worse,
And the rest of the Mass was dashed.
To the man, the priest kindly offered his house.
The man came quietly, like a church mouse.
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A Modern Sonnet
10/23/2015
Contest - In the name of love
Sponsor - Shadow Hamilton
A win
To forgive or not to forgive, that is the question.
When you are offended, whether real or imagined
by a loved one, a friend, or by someone esteemed,
do you confront the other, or resolve to be patient?
If by some stroke of luck, the offender apologized
but turns around, talking glib gobbledygook,
do you keep silent and still, looking cool as ice,
or do you tell it to his face, that he’s more than a crook?
At such time as this, or any time for that matter,
it is best to forgive whether he asks for it or not.
Do not poison your heart with cyanide blather;
bitterness can bother like a bat’s up your butt!
Forgiveness frees the offended from the devil’s deceit;
and makes you smile at the debtor, as his debt, you forfeit.
*First line draws on Hamlet's soliloquy, Act III, Scene 1; W. Shakespeare
A modern sonnet.
06 October 2015
Poem of the Week - October 11 to 17, 2015
Bitter tears cascade down my face,
hearing that you had taken your own life.
Another teenage tragedy, I’m in dire straits -
never again will we hear your playful laugh.
The baby blues crept up on you so gradually
leaving a tiny baby without a mother.
We read about these terrible tragedies ….
Someone’s father, mother, sister or brother.
Your baby will have not be left alone,
grandparents have willingly taken her.
Now she is living in a brand new home;
their lives are starting a new chapter
Forgive me were the last words you said
Death was the price you paid
Contest- Forgiveness
Sponsor - Craig Cornish
My first attempt at a 'Modern' Sonnet
05~10~15
Mother, I pray for your forgiveness as it was me,
I had to let you go and it never leaves my mind;
It was me who made the decision to set you free,
I was the one they came seeking for papers to sign.
There was nothing I could do to change your fate,
I would have done anything even given my own life;
The decision was so difficult and it could not wait,
My heart was stabbed with a blood-soaked knife.
With each gasping, breath you took in this world,
I kept asking is there nothing that can be done;
Oh I hated what had to be, it still twirls and whirls,
I asked the Lord why, why did I have to be the one.
Can you forgive me mother, for letting you go,
You were so kind and sweet and I loved you so.
____________________________
September 24, 2015
Poetry/Modern Sonnet/It Was Me, Mother
Copyright Protected, ID 09-7117-40-24
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, Forgiveness,
sponsor, Craig Cornish, Judged 2015
Fourth Place
I am shattered you do not forgive me...
Turn towards me, darling
and don't turn on your heel.
Call me again your Sapling...
I did not mean to upset you
or shrill out a parting of the ways.
I would turn back the clock if I could
and fall into mode of sunray.
Your Sapling can't be good all the time...
How many can do that?
Occasionally we girls go off the line,
and we can do without men's brick-bats.
Anyhow, I know you'll come round
even by tonight, I'll be bound.
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Modern Sonnet
9/22/2015
Contest - Forgiveness
Sponsor - Craig Cornish
A Win
Here and now, I sweep away stress of day
and breathe in contentment for only myself.
Finally alone, as thoughts come alive, I stay
awake, smiling back at framed faces on my bookshelf.
No counting sheep in the still of late night peace,
for a quiet house sleeps and children, tired
from busy day of play, are wrapped in fleece
dreaming of yesterday's Christmas. Inspired
by the warmth of memories and family, I write
this poem in the moment with my little pup
resting at my feet, husband snoring deep. Only light
coming from my small lamp and the stars. A cup
of hot tea on the nightstand is my only friend
when I write in the hush of the day's dreamy end.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 12/26/14
*Modern Sonnet
The Virgin and Child
Matrix of allusions.Its intersections
dipped in the beckoning depths of chaste dark
to grow limbs like any other. To mark
a departure into a great mission.
Life dipped in a suave and rare medium
of strokes and streaks . Who would not sense
in the vision-flatness an equilibrium
of solidity and reassurance.
The harboring grid of hardened faith
is crowned with thorns of colored distractions
without the telling placenta of birth
but still-lifed in womb-dark meditation
I ‘m the virgin, the lactating breasts, the birth
I ‘m the baby of the resurgent earth.
Form: A modern Sonnet, attempted.
**Based on the painting “ Virgin and child” by SOFONISBA ANGUISSOLA
S.Jagathsimhan Nair,
26th Oct 2013.
Wind, your double essence is well-known.
Whispered summer breezes you exhale;
Then suddenly you turn. You surge and wail,
Expelling rage, you bluster or you moan.
Your brute relentless nature then is shown
For you become a cyclone, Hound of Hell,
Or show yourself a monsoon, squall, or gale.
Unquelled, a devil’s wrath with dust is sown.
As you intone, we’re stricken by your power.
Whipping wind, who thrashes us below,
You’re merciless until that final hour
Your vehemence ceases. Gust, I hate you so.
You scour Earth for those who next must cower.
Two-faced tempest, most indeed you BLOW!
For the NETTED by WORDS: HER SILVERED, TENDER WEBPoetry Contest
I used the theme found in "Wheeze of a Wind" which had been entered
by Nette in another of Cyndi MacMillan's contests:
Timeless Yet Contemporary, A Sonnet Thang
Note to Nette: My sonnet cannot hold a candle to yours. I think your contemporary one was better than my traditional one; however, I hope you can feel my anger about wind in it!! I just love how you did your modern sonnet for Cyndi!! BTW, I MISS you. Where ARE you anyway???
From Ebbett’s Field, they had to move away.
This team sought greener pastures in LA.
What they needed was a little change of scene.
The team moved into a park at Chavez Ravine.
Back in Brooklyn, the boys had a good home.
Their fans didn’t want the team to roam.
A reason to move was the advent of jet travel.
Coast to coast flights were made practical.
The appeal in Southern California didn’t seem to stick.
The boys in blue were getting a little homesick.
To their old Brooklyn fans, they felt regrets.
New Yorkers became less than satisfied with the Mets.
Here’s a little news that may astound:
The Los Angeles Dodgers are now Brooklyn-bound!
Modern sonnet
December 22, 2012
Wicked Love (Modern Sonnet for Contest)
Your step was in the doorway, sunlight dancing in the air
Like a spark within an earthquake,
I’m a fool without a fear
Who sent you to my arms that day, a curse and smile, a tear
Was it written on a page a thousand years and more
To break apart my true bound heart
Destroy my world of careful plans without a second glance.
Naked in the dirt I fell-- a child without a chance.,
Your laughter never falters, never flickers a remorse,
Chasing money f-cking glory, is your selfish course.
A golden life, it trails you, each step -- a new reward
And, leaves behind, a trampled life, a frayed and broken cord.
But some old gods smile out at me through green and golden wood
And life returns with sweetness to reveal a world of good.
From a nebulous black portentous mass
Like layers of charcoal brushed on the sky
Billowing towers in all shades of white
Rise up like demons nearly five miles high
Suffocating the majestic mountains
And brooding over the boiling grey sea
Speaking with forked tongue and a warning voice
About the rain of fury we’ll soon see
Oppressive air foretells of your coming
You have no stealth with your bickering
Synapses trigger within your dull head
You have no stealth with your flickering
Then comes the hard rain nourishing the earth
Nature’s breast feeding all of nature’s birth ~
(Modern sonnet)